The Halfway House
by Rosencrantz and Guildenstern
Summary: In the wizarding world, magic is everything. Squibs are generally shunned from society, and Muggles are carefully kept in the dark. But what if you were born with magic, and suddenly your world was turned upside down...a fifth year fic that might be a lit


In the wizarding world, magic is everything. Squibs are generally shunned from society, and Muggles are carefully kept in the dark. But what if you were born with magic, and suddenly your world was turned upside down...a fifth year fic that might be a little different from the rest.

The Halfway House

Chapter One: SMADS

There was never complete quiet at Springfield Academy. Even in the dead of night, somewhere in the seemingly endless underground passages of the school there was bound to be some noisy goings-on, whether it was a pixie that had escaped from its cage in the menagerie or a group of students, out after hours to wander the halls. That night, it was the latter--soft giggling sounds came from one of the many empty classrooms scattered throughout the building, usually used to store potions ingredients or textbooks. The spurts of laughter were usually short-lived and quickly silenced, but if someone had been lurking outside and moved closer to the door, it would have been possible to understand some of the muttered words.

"_There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies, that's for thoughts_."

"_A document in madness; dreams_--no, that's wrong. _A document in madness; _thoughts _and remembrance fitted_."

"_There's fennel for you, and here's some for me; we may call it herb of grace o' Sundays. You must wear you rue with a difference. There's a daisy. I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died. They say he made a good end. For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy._"

"Umm..._dreams_...no. _Desires_...line?"

"Thoughts and...."

"_Thoughts and_..._thoughts and_....line?"

"Thoughts and afflictions, passion, hell itself...."

"That's right, sorry. _Thoughts and afflictions, passions, hell itself_...umm. She..._she turns to_...line?"

"She turns to favor and to prettiness. Honestly, Bea, you wanted to be Laertes, and he's an important character. If you can't even get your lines right, there's no way we can put this play on."

"Okay, okay, so I forget a few lines. It's no big deal, Helen. Give me some time. We only started this scene last week."

"Yeah, but nobody _else_ is constantly forgetting what they're supposed to say. Lindsay, stop giggling. Gertrude is _not _supposed to laugh in this scene. Bea, if you get a big part, you work at your lines. That's just the way it is. All right, start back when Ophelia enters. Laertes, that's your line."

"I know, I know! _O heat, dry up my brains! Tears seven times..._seven times....somebody pass me a script?"

A soft, exasperated moan came from inside the storage room. A slight breeze caused the door to swing open another inch, and the scene within widened another crack. Had our unseen watcher been present, he might have slipped through the opening, and an unexpected sight would have met his eyes.

Well over a dozen large cardboard boxes stood in one corner. Thick streaks in the dust that lay on the floor indicated where several had been dragged over to another side of the room and set up as a raised platform. Six girls in stood on top of the platform. Four of them had their hair pulled up inside a hat or in a bun, and one was leaning down to take a paperback book from one of the other girls standing around below the platform. They all had nearly identical robes on--the only differences were that some were red with yellow worked around the hem, others blue with silver, some green and white, some violet and gold, some orange and black, and still others black and gold. A short brunette, with a pencil stuck behind her ear and an identical book in hand, was wearing an extremely exasperated expression.

"Helen," one of the onlookers said pleadingly, "it's nearly three a.m. I'm going to fall asleep on my feet."

"So sit down then."

"_Helen...._"

"I don't respond to that, remember. I'm Hamlet whenever we're inside this room. You might be able to stay in Polonius' character if you paid attention to details like that."

"Whatever. Can we go to bed?"

"Nobody's making you stay."

"Can't we just end practice?"

"We'll go on strike if you don't."

"Fine." Helen took the pencil from behind her ear and wrote something on her copy of the script, then folded it and stuck it somewhere deep inside her robes.

"This morning, at two forty-six a.m., on June twenty-fifth, 1994, I declare this session of the Springfield Magical Academy Drama Society to be officially ended."

There were numerous sighs of relief from around the room.

"We have exams beginning tomorrow morning (that's the twenty-sixth of June, not the twenty-fifth, so don't panic), so there won't be any SMADS tonight. See you all later, and be careful getting back to your dorms. Remember what happened when Marguerite got caught; Sophie had to fill in for Lady Capulet and read all her lines from the script. We do _not_ want that happening this production. Remember, the show's on the day we get back to school, so keep your lines memorized and I'll be in touch to give you the summer practice schedule."

"Finally!"

"I thought we'd never get out of here."

Helen sat down on one of the boxes and watched her cast and crew file quietly out of the storage room. "Laertes" remained behind, yawning widely.

"You really have to remember to practice your lines more often, Bea. I'm getting tired of feeding them to you."

"You're the only one that cares if they're all memorized. The play's not until September."

"That's three months, and _Hamlet_'s not exactly a short play."

"So what? Right now, I'm more worried about failing that Charms exam the day after tomorrow. Professor Artley said it'd be our hardest yet."

"Of course it will be, we started Translating Charms this year."

"Yeah, too bad we can't use them on our Latin exam. Come on, let's get to bed."

They rose and slipped out the door. Helen whispered, "_Extinguo!_" and the torches went out with a loud hiss. She closed the door carefully behind her. "_Obsero._" The lock clicked, and the two of them hurried down the now empty corridor.

"We're going to get caught, we're going to get caught," Bea whispered, throwing nervous glances behind her as they walked. "The teachers are cracking down on student out after hours, they said so today. Because of those Momraths that got themselves caught the night before last."

"Idiots," Helen muttered, pushing aside a tapestry on the wall, sliding the wooden panel to one side, and heading up the staircase. Beatrice nodded fervently.

"Quietly playing a game of hide-and-seek, my foot. You could hear them all the way from the library."

"What were you doing in the library at that time of night?"

"I forgot to finish my Advanced Potions homework, and I left my textbook down there. Nobody else in our dorm is in Advanced Potions, so I couldn't borrow one. The point is, Helen, they were all over the place. It's no wonder they got caught, but they could have been more careful and not ruined it for the rest of us. Stupid second years."

They had emerged from another wooden panel and tapestry onto the second floor. Helen glanced around before proclaiming that the coast was clear and darting across the hall to the enormous Chinese dragon that was painted on the wall. "What's the password, again, Bea?"

"Triwizard Tournament."

"Oh, right." The dragon's mouth had opened wide, and its head turned itself until they were looking directly into it--but the black paint disappeared, revealing a long, carpeted corridor. Helen and Beatrice stepped carefully over the front row of teeth and onto the thick gold carpet. The hallway ended, several yards from the entrance, in the Borogove common room.

This enormous, square room was wall-to-wall with black carpeting. The wallpaper was also black, with a border of gold that shifted and changed in the firelight. A huge golden chandelier hung from the ceiling, its thousands of candles glittering madly as it spun slowly in a circle.

"Think anybody's awake?" Beatrice asked quietly.

Helen was about to shake her head when a tall boy stepped out of the nearest of seven fireplaces, brushing off his black and gold robes. "What are you doing up at this time of the night?"

"Nothing," Helen said loftily. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"So you're sneaking out to go to that SMADS thing again, are you? You'll get us all in trouble."

"Bug off, Darius. It's no business of yours."

"It is if you lose points for the rest of the Borogove Fours. Ten points off, for each of you, for every hour you're late. It's three in the morning. That's a hundred points total if you get caught!"

"I _can_ do math, you know," Helen snapped. "And you lost twenty just last week."

"Not all in one night, I didn't, and not for being out past ten."

"Well, we're not going to get caught now, are we? Unless you want to turn us in."

"Shut up, both of you," Beatrice said tiredly. "I'm going to bed."

She pushed her way past Darius and walked straight into the fire. He turned to follow her, then looked back at Helen.

"Coming?"

She shrugged and followed him into the fireplace, feeling a sudden burst of warmth, and then she was through. The entrances to the Borogove Four dormitories were two heavy oak doors. Darius took the left, and Helen and Beatrice took the right. The eighteen other girls in their year and house were stretched out, fast asleep, on nine bunk beds, only faintly visible in the light cast from Bea's wand. "_Nox,_" she whispered, as Helen lit the candles by their beds. Changing into nightgowns took mere seconds, and soon, they were sprawled on their bunk, the candles extinguished.

Helen leaned over the side of her bed, peering downwards through the darkness to Bea's sleepy form. "Bea?"

"Mmm."

"Say that line again, the one that begins, 'Thoughts and afflictions'. I want to see if you remember it this time."

The only response was a gentle snore from the bed below. Helen sighed and curled up beneath the covers, tucking her bare feet underneath her and balling her pillow up until her head was a good six inches off the mattress. It occurred to her belatedly that she hadn't done her Pre-Calculus homework. At that point, she was quite a bit too tired to care.

She laid her wand carefully down on the bed next to her pillow, grasping it gently in one hand. The wood was warm to the touch, and she smiled to herself, as she always did, as the gentle heat traveled slowly up her arm.

She, Helen Gerber, was not a Squib.

Though the thought might not have seemed particularly important or, indeed, surprising to most, it reassured her and lulled her gently to sleep.

********

The mood at the house tables the following morning was extremely excited. A loud yell went up when the first owl flew into the dining hall to drop off a paper at the Borogove table--Beatrice Clarentine was the lucky recipient, and moans came from the other tables as every Borogove present crowded around her as she excitedly untied the string. "I've got both the _Daily Prophet _and the _Morning Sibyl,_" she said significantly, naming both the British and the American newspapers. "I figure the _Prophet_'ll have better coverage."

Helen, naturally, was sitting right next to her, and got a full view of the headlines as the _Prophet_ was unfolded. "_Cauldron stocks drop sharply with threats of new laws to be imposed--_" Bea broke off, staring confusedly down at the paper. "That's not right. Who cares about cauldron stocks? Just a minute, I'll find it in a second." She searched through the whole front page while the rest of her house pushed to see better. While she was looking, more owls had arrived, and other people were searching their own copies for the story everyone wanted to read. "It's not there."

"What?" Helen demanded, snatching the paper from Bea's hand. "How can it not be there? The date's right, isn't it?" It turned out that Bea was correct--the article was nowhere in sight. Helen opened the paper up and soon found a tiny column on the second page. "Here we are--what do they think they're doing, putting it way back in here? '_Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament Completed--written by Hugo Lathrop._' Wonder what happened to that Skeeter woman? '_The boy wonder, Harry Potter, carries off another task. Mr. Potter received the thousand-galleon award for being first through the maze on the Hogwarts grounds to seize the Triwizard Cup. Neither Mr. Potter nor the other champions were available for comment._' "

"And?" Beatrice asked.

"And that's it. Three sentences."

"What? You're joking."

"Dead serious. That's all."

"What do they think they're playing at? No photos, no quotes, no long ramblings about Harry Potter?"

"None. Check the _Sibyl_, maybe there'll be more there."

By this time, the entire hall was in an uproar. Students were on their feet at every one of the six house tables (as well as the seventh, which consisted solely of the unsorted first years), either reading the articles aloud or demanding that the teachers let them listen to the Wizarding Wireless Network's broadcast of the event. No sooner had Beatrice checked the American paper, only to find it as bereft of information as the British, than a commanding voice boomed along the dining hall, bringing all talk to a standstill.

"Silence!" Helen swiveled around in her seat to see Professor Leona Stravinsky, the Headmistress of Salem Academy, standing up in her place at the staff table. She was close enough to the professor to see her eyes flashing and several strands of auburn hair break free of the French braid that hung down past her shoulders. "Students, I understand your natural curiosity, but the Triwizard Tournament is hardly an immediate concern of ours. We will attempt to find out exactly what happened last night, but until we do so, it would be wise to devote your attentions to the rather more pressing matter of your exams, which, I hardly need say, begin tomorrow. Now, please sit down and continue with breakfast as usual."

It took a moment or two for things to calm down, but eventually, everyone was sitting down again and completing their conversations in subdued voices.

"What do you think could have happened?" Bea asked, pouring milk over her corn flakes and scanning through the article again. "Funny, isn't it, thinking that all that was going on while we were at the Drama--" She cut herself short. "In bed last night."

"Would have been sometime yesterday afternoon, actually," Darius Lupin put in from across the table. "Taking time zones into consideration."

"Whatever. The point is, everybody in Britain got to see the third task, and we get a measly three sentences in the newspaper, written by some junior reporter. How cheap is that?"

"The teachers will figure it out eventually," Helen replied, buttering a piece of toast. "But it _is_ strange, after all the coverage the tournament's been getting."

Soon after she'd finished the toast, the clock on the far wall of the hall chimed seven forty-five, and there was a loud scraping noise as most of the students pushed their chairs back and rose to leave. "What's first today?" Darius asked, and Helen removed her schedule from her book bag.

"Triple Advanced Transfiguration with the Gimbles and the Toves. Then we've got Potions at quarter to ten and Latin at eleven thirty. After lunch, let's see--I have math, and so do you, Darius. Bea, don't you have history? Then there's Charms for the Borogove Fours at three-fifteen and study period from five to seven. We've got a late dinner today, since there's five review sessions instead of four classes, and free time from eight to ten."

"I asked for our first class, not the whole day's schedule."

"You're still nettled over us coming in late this morning, aren't you?"

Darius frowned. "I think you should have been more careful, that's all. And I happen to believe in obeying rules."

Helen felt her stomach knot up and tried to keep the guilt from showing. She happened to believe in obeying rules, as well, and she wasn't overly proud of the fact that she'd been breaking them--not to mention the fact that he had a perfectly valid point. Trying to save her face (to both herself and to Darius) she asked, trying to put him on the defensive, "So what were you doing up at three?"

"I couldn't sleep. Remember, I caught a cold yesterday, and Miss Bromhurst made me drink that Pepperup potion, and it's hard to think about falling asleep when you've got smoke pouring out of your ears."

"Come on," Bea said impatiently, "it takes forever to get to the Transfiguration room. We'll be late if we don't leave now."

They were, or very nearly. The three of them hurried into the classroom only seconds before the eight o'clock bell rang to join the other Borogoves at the right side of the room. In the middle were the Gimble fourth years, with their black-bordered orange robes, and on the left, the Toves, distinguished by blue robes worked with silver. Their teacher, Professor Gonzales, was standing in front of the blackboard, wand in hand, fingering a stack of papers.

"Good morning," he said in greeting as the students sat down. "I'm passing out a review sheet today. It will be graded as a quiz score, since all of you should know the material by now." Several muted groans were heard from the back of the room. "You have half an hour to complete fifteen multiple choice and true or false questions, though it shouldn't take you that long. For the last hour or so, we'll go over a practical review for the exam."

Helen took out a quill and her ink bottle, taking her sheet as it was passed back in the row. The questions didn't look too hard--the first one asked what the incantation for a basic switching spell was, if used on inanimate objects. She circled an answer and moved on, letting her mind wander.

She'd really have to start cracking down on everyone in SMADS, she decided. While Helen certainly didn't want to be playing the wicked witch (no pun intended), there was really no excuse for the lack of dedication some of them were experiencing. Although, to be perfectly fair, she had to admit that "Ophelia" was putting an extraordinary amount of time into memorizing her lines, but Genevieve was a Vorple, after all, and no Vorple had ever been accused of neglecting his or her duties, or in fact of anything but throwing themselves wholeheartedly into whatever task they were given. That was why they were put into that house. Each of the six Springfield Academy houses was renowned for a specific character trait. For instance, the Momraths were known for their bravery, the Toves for cleverness, and the Gimbles for learning (although students from the other houses had been known to wave this off as spending too much time in the library). Wabes were firmly loyal, and their convictions were rarely shaken. Finally, there was Helen's own house, the Borogoves. It was not unusual for Borogoves to quarrel constantly among one other, as each was chosen for his or her leadership ability, and most would do anything to get things done his or her way. That was one reason that she and Beatrice were the sole representatives from their house in SMADS--it kept the bickering to a minimum.

With a start, Helen removed her quill from the paper--she had continued circling the answer to number four until the quill ran dry, and the ink had soaked through the page. She reached for the ink bottle and moved on.

The last hour of Transfiguration was taken up with reviewing methods of changing teacups into sparrows. It was, of course, considerably harder than changing a sparrow into a teacup, due to the fact that you had to make the sparrow able to move, and Helen's bird ended up flying around with a ceramic beak. She wasn't the only one in their class to err in their transfiguration; Beatrice only got as far as the wings and tail, leaving the teacup flapping helplessly on the table. Professor Gonzales shook his head in exasperation and came around to assist each of the seventeen total students in achieving their desired results, ending the class with a strict admonition to keep up their studying.

Potions was a bit better, although one of the other Borogove girls exploded her cauldron by adding her shredded sliverspine before bringing the Aging Potion to boil. Helen herself managed to produce a nearly perfect potion that turned the block of wood she had been given to practice on into a slightly rotten hunk of pulp. The Latin review session went fairly well, though she made a mental note to practice dative noun endings before she had to know them on the exam. By the time they got out of that class, her stomach was loudly protesting the lateness of the hour.

The main topic of conversation at lunch was, of course, the Triwizard Tournament, which had been the subject of much resentment among the American students ever since they had learned that the European tournament was to be reinstated that year. They had eventually gotten over the fact that they were not to be included in the events, and instead, everyone had taken an intense interest in the proceedings, which was why the students had been so displeased with the lack of coverage in the papers. No new information had been produced, though half the school had signed a petition to have a recording of the wireless coverage aired during dinner. Professor Stravinsky had acceded to their demands, though she added that there might not be much more information given.

Pre-Calculus was a total disaster. Professor Diatribe, a short, freckle-faced witch with a sharp glare and a tongue to match, gave Helen a ten-minute long harangue about responsibility and took off five points because she hadn't completed the homework due from the previous week's lesson. Darius refused to empathize, giving her a maddeningly superior "it's no more than you deserve" look and ignoring her for the rest of the period. When Helen finally sank into her seat in the Charms classroom at three fifteen, it was with a disgruntled frown and an irritated mood.

"Bad time in math?" Bea whispered from the desk next to her. Helen rolled her eyes in answer as the thirty-ninth and last of the Borogove Fours took her seat. The witch at the desk in front of the room cleared her throat for silence, and the lesson began.

Edith Artley had always been one of Helen's favorite Professors (perhaps because she was the head of the Borogove house), though most students seemed to think she was too strict. Professor Artley was younger than most of the other teachers, only about thirty-three or so, with shoulder-length, light brown hair and silvery gray eyes. She surveyed them all with a steely air, nearly hiding the twinkle that was the only indicator of an indulgent sense of humor. "Good afternoon," she said in a light, precise voice, "and I hope you're all doing well. Please get out your wands. I'm passing out an excerpt from an old Latin textbook of mine, and as you know, translating charms will make up the bulk of our exams. You have twenty minutes to complete a translation from the Latin--into Spanish."

Beatrice choked on the end of the quill she'd been sucking, and Darius' face fell. "I want each of you to translate directly between the two languages. No English in between, so that won't help any of you who are in Latin. Twenty minutes. Here you are."

She passed out the parchments to the whole class, and Helen took hers with a sinking feeling. The passage wasn't very long, only a few paragraphs--but the idea of translating from one language she vaguely knew to another she didn't know at all was one she hadn't considered for the exams. At least the Professor had told them about it beforehand.

__

ego in cubiculum mane surgi, quod terra valde tremuit. ego timebam et domino vocavi. Lucrio me ad atrio duxit. "sollicita sum," dixi. "ego in foro heri eram. tibi togam quaerebam. nubem mirabilem conspexi. iam tremores sentio."

"_Latinus ad Español_," Helen whispered, concentrating hard on the words in front of her. She pointed her wand at the first word and saw shimmering sparks move along the letters, and then more writing began to appear below the rest.

__

Yo me levanté en mi dormitorio....

The first paragraph took about three minutes to complete. It was painstaking work, because if her concentration broke before she completed the translation and put a fixing charm on the words, they could disappear off the page and she'd have to start over. Helen stopped every few sentences to tie off her work, ensuring that even in the event that she was distracted, the words would remain where they were. She was careful to use every one of the twenty minutes they were given, and had only just finished when Professor Artley looked up from her desk and got the class' attention.

"Your twenty minutes are up. Please put down your wands. I'll collect the papers and we'll moved on--don't worry, this will not be graded. It is only a review."

Helen was grateful for the extra hours she'd spent studying for this class, as it made it much easier for her to complete the other assignments they were given, including summoning and banishing charms, as well as a number of others. The Borogoves staggered out of the room at quarter to five, heads spinning with exhaustion and everything they were trying to remember.

"Can you _believe_ how much we're supposed to know by Friday?" Beatrice moaned loudly as they fell into chairs in the black and gold Borogove common room. "OWL's aren't until next year."

"I'm not worried about charms," Helen said absently, digging through her book bag to find her math book. "The Pre-Calculus exam's going to be a killer. Conic sections, exponential equations--and probability. I _hate_ probability. It's even worse than polar coordinates, which is saying something."

"Speaking of which, did you get number seventeen on the review sheet?" Darius asked. He'd just set his bag down on the table next to them. "I think I'm setting it up wrong."

"So you're talking to me again now that you need help with the homework, are you."

"Stop being that way. Did you get the answer?"

"What makes you think I'm going to help you with it?"

"Helen, please."

"Oh, if you insist." He watched her eagerly, pen poised above a sheet of parchment. "I don't know how to do it."

Beatrice giggled. "You two are horrible."

Darius gave up and picked up his book bag. "Fine, then; if you're going to fool around like that, I'm going to go find someone who'll help me. Look, there's Haili, she'll know how to do it."

"No she won't," Helen muttered darkly, the smile suddenly disappearing from her face as he vacated the chair next to her and got the attention of another fourth year across the room. "She doesn't know pi from apples, any more than the other girls she hangs out with."

"They're all really pretty, though," Beatrice pointed out with a shrewd grin, "and popular."

Helen stared at her, completely nonplussed. "I know that. They've been that way since we started at Springfield. What's it got to do with anything?"

"Only that Darius knows exactly how to get on your nerves, that's all."

"And I know how to get on his. What's your point?"

"Nothing. Can I borrow your potions book? I left mine on my bed after lunch."

"Go ahead."

Helen didn't realize how tired she'd been until Beatrice shook her awake what seemed like mere seconds later. "Dinner!" She sat up, startled, and her cheek stung as it detached itself from the cover of her math book.

"Already?"

"It's seven, Helen. You fell asleep while you were doing the review sheet."

"How long ago was that?"

"Five fifteen."

"I _knew_ we should have cut practice short last night."

"Excuse me? Who's the director? Who kept us all up until three this morning even though the rest of us wanted to go to bed?"

"Guilty as charged."

Her point made, Beatrice shoved her books into her bag and stood up. "Come on, let's hurry--they'll be airing the third task, if we're lucky."

The rest of the Borogoves seemed to have the same idea in mind. The corridor leading out of the dragon's mouth was nearly blocked, and it took the two of them forever to push their way through the crowd and out into the corridor. Helen accidentally bumped into Darius just as they emerged from the painting; he gave her a cool look and she hurried away to join Beatrice. If he wanted to be unreasonable, that was fine with her. She just wished he didn't have to be so openly exasperating about it.

They found seats near the end of the Borogove table and were immediately joined by a short girl with violet and gold robes, marking her as a Vorple, and frizzy red hair. " 'Lo," she said in an undertone, sliding into the empty chair next to Helen. There were one or two stares from the other Borogoves, but most of them had gotten used to Genevieve joining their table, occasionally along with another friend or two from SMADS. "Do you think they're going to air the recording?"

"They'd better," Beatrice replied darkly, frowning up at the staff table where Professor Stravinsky was sitting. "If they don't, they're going to have a mutiny on their hands."

"Where's Darius?"

Beatrice coughed loudly, jerking her head toward the other side of the table. Gen looked back and forth between him and Helen, eyes narrowing in comprehension. "You two aren't arguing again, are you?"

"About the stupidest things, as usual," Bea said.

"He wasn't too happy about us coming in late this morning."

Gen lowered her voice. "It sounds like three of the Toves got caught on their way back to the common room."

"You're joking!"

"No, not at all. They each lost fifty points and got detention."

"A hundred and fifty points...what would that put them at?"

"It was Jennifer, Marguerite, and Lindsay, so that's a hundred for the third years and fifty for the fourths--I don't know what they're all at, now."

"Quiet--" Beatrice broke in suddenly. Helen turned around to see Professor Stravinsky standing up, and a hush fell over the hall.

"Students, we've managed to get a recording of the wireless coverage of last night's third task, and we'll be airing it during dinner. I'd ask that you would all keep your voices down for the duration of the meal. Bon appetit!" The doors from the kitchens flew open, letting in several dozen tall, thin elves, each with the colors of one of the house tables on their uniforms, or just white for those who would serve the first-year table. They divided into seven groups, placed steaming trays of food down on the color-coordinated tablecloths, and disappeared almost noiselessly. There was a moment of quiet, in which the students held their collective breaths, and then a crackling sound filled the room. It died down to a low buzz, and then became perfectly clear, and a man's voice spoke into the silence.

"Well, we at WZRD would like to wish every one of our listeners a good evening. This is Arnold Wrathworthy, along with Donald Ficklewhirt, all the way across the Atlantic in Scotland, at the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, bringing you live coverage of the third task of the recently reinstated Triwizard Tournament. Just an update on the tournament so far--the champions include Viktor Krum, the renowned Bulgarian Seeker, representing Durmstrang Institute; Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons; and, finally, Cedric Diggory and the famous Harry Potter of Hogwarts. It's a bit of a mystery how Mr. Potter got in, isn't it, Donald?"

"You've got that right, Arnold. From what we know, there was an age line drawn up around the Goblet of Fire--the enchanted goblet that chooses a champion for each school, for those of you who haven't been following us--to prevent anyone under seventeen from entering the competition, and yet, Mr. Potter's in at fourteen, not to mention the fact that there shouldn't be two champions from one school...."

"And yet, Donald, he's performed admirably well for his age, hasn't he?"

"Indeed. Mr. Potter and Mr. Diggory are leading the field right now with eighty-five points from the first two tasks. Mr. Krum is five points behind them, at seventy, and Miss Delacour from the French school trails with sixty-five. Now, the third task is comprised of maze of ten-foot tall hedges with the trophy at the end, but it won't be easy for any of the champions. A series of obstacles, including quite a few ferocious-looking monsters and a number of spells, has been set up throughout the maze, and while (based on the points) Potter and Diggory will have a five minute lead on Krum, and Miss Delacour will enter five minutes after that."

"But they'll all have a fighting chance?"

"Based on their speed through the maze and their ability to conquer the obstacles, yes."

"Thank you, Donald. Now, perhaps we could explain to our listeners exactly what the scene here on the Quidditch Pitch looks like."

"Well, I'm sure you'll agree that it's quite a sight. The stands are packed full with people, mostly students from Hogwarts, but the delegates from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons who were not chosen for the Tournament are also present, along with reporters and some members of the wizarding public. Four of the five judges are at the far end of the pitch, raised high above the rest of the crowd. Those include Headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts, Headmaster Igor Karkaroff of Durmstrang, Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons, and then a face I'm sure we'll all recognize."

"That's Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister of Magic, filling in Bartemius Crouch of the British Department of International Wizarding Cooperation. Any word on his condition, Donald?"

"Not at this point, I'm afraid; the British Ministry hasn't given any word, other than that he's taken off for health reasons. It's a shame he couldn't be here, Arnold, after all he's done to make the tournament happen. But where's the fifth judge?"

"That would be Ludo Bagman, the retired Beater formerly with the Wimbourne Wasps, now Head of the British Department of Magical Games and Sports. He's down on the pitch right now, giving some last minute instructions to the champions, and I assume he'll be coming up to join the other judges in a moment. Mr. Bagman will be commentating, as he did at the Quidditch World Cup this summer, in which, it might be mentioned, Mr. Viktor Krum performed admirably for the Bulgarian Team, although Ireland carried off the cup."

"And if I'm not mistaken, we'll be finding out shortly whether or not he can carry off the Tri--"

A new voice broke in just as Helen sprinkled pepper over her potatoes. "_Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each--Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!_" A loud round of applause came from the invisible speakers, and then the voice resumed: "_In second place, with eighty points--Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute! And in third place--Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!_" There was more applause for each champion, though not quite as enthusiastic. "_So . . . on my whistle, Harry and Cedric! Three--two--one--_"

A short, shrill whistle blast echoed through the walls, causing several students to drop their silverware and clap their hands to their ears.

"Sorry about the interruption, folks," came Arnold Wrathworthy's voice. "That was Ludo Bagman himself, announcing that the first two champions--Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory--have both entered the maze....it's a bit hard to see from up here--the wards around the maze, to keep the champions from hearing or seeing much of what's going on outside, have begun to send off a few sparks, and it's difficult to see past them...it does, however, seem that Potter and Diggory have split up at the first fork, after lighting up their wands to show their way...no sign of any obstacles yet, though I see a gigantic, hairy-looking form lurking not far from where Mr. Potter is--but it seems to be moving away from him now...we'll see if his luck continues...."

Another blast of the whistle stopped him from continuing. "And Mr. Krum moves forward. That's three champions in, Arnold, and although Diggory and Potter seem to have a good head start, Krum's hot on the trail now...." There was a long pause, during which Helen and the others listened intently. "And, unless I'm very much mistaken, Miss Delacour seems to be preparing to enter the maze." A third whistle attested to the truth of that statement. "Mr. Bagman is heading up into the stands to join the other judges, and the third task is underway!"

The commentators continued without anything of particular interest for a good twenty minutes, though the students hung on their every word. Several loud gasps were heard when monsters and enchantments were described, but, because of the interference from the audio and visual wards, little to no detail could be given on the actual proceedings, until--

"And there's a column of red sparks, a signal that one of the champions is in danger--several of the Hogwarts teachers are entering the maze to retrieve the unlucky champion--" They emerged several minutes later, an unconscious Fleur Delacour in tow. A tense moment passed. "According to Hogwarts' head physician, Miss Delacour was only stunned, and though she has lost the tournament, will be perfectly fine...and another trail of sparks! That's two champions down!" The news that Viktor Krum, too, had been stunned and eliminated from the task was met with breathless anticipation.

The main course--a beef and vegetable stew, liberally sprinkled with herbs and soaked in gravy--passed without any further surprises, though according to the commentators, the champions' paths were marked every so often by a burst of sparks. Helen had just started on her bowl of jello and whipped cream when there came a roar from the unseen crowd and Donald Ficklewhirt's voice shouted excitedly, "Harry Potter and--yes, I see Cedric Diggory now as well--have broken into the open area where the Triwizard Cup is stationed, but there's something moving in the maze off to the side--they're both sprinting now, looks like Diggory's got the lead--"

"Merlin's beard! That's an acromantula, Donald, or call me a boggart! A twelve-foot high spider has just emerged from the hedges! Diggory doesn't seem to have his wand, looks like he's in trouble now!"

"No, wait, Arnold, Harry Potter's doubled back--he's attacking the spider--but now it has him, and the spells aren't doing any good--correction, they seem to have it under control now. The spider's collapsed to the ground, and Potter's gone with it. Looks like he's injured...Diggory's got it in the bag, now."

That wasn't right, Helen thought, gripping her spoon so hard it hurt her hand. The article had said that Harry Potter had won, and it looked like the other students were confused as well....

"They seem to be speaking to each other, Donald. Of course, we can't hear from up here."

"Now it looks like Diggory's helping Potter to his feet. He isn't giving up the cup, is he? No, they're taking it together! A double Hogwarts victory. The crowd's going wild, you can barely hear over the noise...."

Then there was a sudden silence, and every ear in the hall was strained to catch what came next.

"That...the two champions just disappeared from the pitch, along with the cup."

"Was that...that wasn't supposed to happen, was it?"

"I should think not...the judges seem to be confused and concerned, they can't have planned this...."

Shouts of surprise and disbelief from the invisible crowd filled the air. "The judges are making their ways down towards the pitch--Dumbledore seems to have given the order for the hedges to be taken down, and they're being systematically disintegrated as we speak...."

There was a momentary lapse, and then Donald Ficklewhirt cleared his throat. "The area's been cleared, and there's no sign of Potter, Diggory, or the cup. There's people milling all over the place, though, teachers and the judges examining the ground--what could it have been?"

"They wouldn't have apparated away, Donald. Maybe a Portkey, or some other sort of transportation spell?"

"In any case, both the champions are gone, and the crowd is looking on in considerable distress." For the next fifteen minutes, all activity in the great hall was stilled, as even the teachers listened, rapt, for further information. And then, quite suddenly, somebody let out a shriek.

"They've reappeared! Potter and Diggory have reappeared, along with the cup! They seemed to be injured or unconscious, I can't tell exactly from here--" Then the screaming began, garbled words that were nearly intelligible, and the only other sound was Arnold Wrathworthy's disbelieving whisper.

"Merlin--Donald--is that what I think--"

"The Dark Ma--"

His words were drowned in the screaming and in the static that suddenly overwhelmed the magical speakers, and just as they disappeared entirely, the doors to the great hall burst open, and a disheveled woman in streaked work robes came in--Helga Graham, the caretaker of the menagerie. A beautiful, red-plumed bird was perched precariously on her shoulder, and she was gripping an envelope in her right hand. She hurried up to the staff table to Professor Stravinsky, and her words were audible to everyone in the shocked silence.

"Headmistress," she gasped, out of breath, "a letter for you--it's terribly urgent. He needs to see you at once!"

"Who does?"

"Professor Albus Dumbledore."

Author's Note:Okay, now we've gotten most of the introductions taken care of (though you still haven't learned anything about Helen's background), and I can start moving into the actual story next chapter. The title will make no sense whatsoever until later on, so rest assured that it has something to do with the plotline I have planned out. To the best of my admittedly predisposed knowledge and judgment, Helen is most certainly NOT one of the dreaded Mary-Sues. I've given her the comprehensive litmus test at http:/writersu.s5.com/history/msl03.html, and she scored 6 or 7 out of about 80. I think I'm pretty safe. Granted, she's from America and has one or two of the other warning signs, but most are necessary to the plot. I can't mention too many of these--it'll spoil the next few chapters. Sorry if the dialogue in the beginning was a bit incomprehensible during the first read--it was taken from Shakespeare's Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 5, courtesy of my Folger Library copy, interspersed with Helen giving cues and Beatrice as Laertes mixing her lines up. Reviews are, of course, extraordinarily welcome. Kudos to anyone who can figure out where the house names come from. As a hint, they're all from a poem (one I happen to have about memorized, though I'm a little rusty on it and the spellings might not match perfectly). This chapter has been redone (slightly) based on one of the reviews--thank you, electicmum. I should have remembered that Percy wasn't filling in during the third task, and to appease myself, I've rewritten that sentence or two.

Disclaimer:I own the Springfield Academy and everyone there (except the last name of one of the students, which I'm sure you'll recognize, and the fact that a few of the other names came from real people, none of whom I actually know personally, just names I've heard in completely random places). Everything else belongs to JK Rowling. Some of the Third Task coverage was taken directly from pages 620 and 621 (First American edition) of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Don't try to sue me--I won't have any money anyway until I write my best selling novel (grin--never mind, that's just the author's long running inside joke with herself).


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